


immaculate genesis

by ecliptica (rosaire)



Series: in absentia lucis, tenebrae vincunt [1]
Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: 000 spoilers, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Creation Myth, Emotional Manipulation, Inspired by Fanart, M/M, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, loosely based off the Book of Genesis, lucilius is eve, lucio is adam, rated T for some violent imagery with fruit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 18:12:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18393701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosaire/pseuds/ecliptica
Summary: The twin heavenly lights had been meant to be one and the same.One light—the first—knew only loyalty to his Creator and love for all of his creations, but the other light—the second—knew only hunger for the knowledge embedded in the fruit of life. Their absent Creator had forbade them to eat from the fruit, but temptation is never easy to deny, and love often loses to the whims of free will.A retelling of the beginning, and the fall from grace.





	immaculate genesis

**Author's Note:**

> so I saw [this comic](https://twitter.com/wahoosandalphon/status/1105772505845776384) by [wahoosandalphon](https://twitter.com/wahoosandalphon) that envisioned Lucio (as Helel) and Lucilius as Adam and Eve from the Book of Genesis and I thought to myself, hey, this would be a neat thing to write especially since I love writing creation myths and lore. originally, I didn't intend for there to be any Lucilius/Lucio in this fic, but I had the realization that Lucilius would manipulate Lucio to fulfill his desires. hence there is no romance in this fic, just pure manipulation; if that isn't your cup of tea, I highly recommend skipping over this fic.
> 
> aside from that, because this fic is based off a combination of the game and Genesis, it doesn't 100% match up to the game lore. it's just...another interpretation, you could say.
> 
> alright that's enough chatter from me! I hope you enjoy this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> follow me on Twitter!  
> GBF Twitter: [@ecliptica000](https://twitter.com/ecliptica000)  
> 

It begins as nothing.

Nothing, but the black of the interminable void, sprawling vast, infinite, across the threads of an ever expanding universe newly born. This young universe, a blank canvas immaculate in its delicate simplicity, carries nothing but the weight of dark matter, the infertile remnants of all that lived and died before in another iteration. It waits, patiently, in the cradle of nothing, for the first seed to be sowed. It waits, quietly, in the embrace of darkness, for the first ribbon of light to illuminate its eyes to time.

A massive coil of scales colored with the obsidian of the abyss rests at the center of it all, maw agape with the red hot glow of primeval power. He is a grand beast, ultimate in his design; a circle of jagged horns crowns his head, a path of onyx spines protrudes along the hardened ridge of his broad back, a pair of leathery wings wreathed with claws spreads out from either side of his body. His eyes, ablaze with the golden flames that dwell inside, stare light into the darkness of the untouched universe.

He opens his maw wide and releases his voice, deep and sonorous, to the void.

“Let there be light.”

And then there is light.

Clusters of stars burn into existence, dotting the expanse with their radiance, ending the reign of limitless dark. They burn like the eyes of the grand beast, mirroring his gaze with their rounded glow; energy resonates from them in bursts, bleeding into the universe, coloring it with the eternity of their creator’s will. The painted canvas of existence quakes with newfound purpose.

The Creator bows his head, spreads his wings, ruptures the fabric of the universe with a sweep of his mighty tail. Fragments of matter hurtle into the silence. The Creator molds them into spheres and suspends them in the carefully constructed equilibrium of the budding universe. He performs this task over and over, seeding creation into the universe with the remnants of destruction.

Life flourishes in this way.

“My Speaker.”

Several ribbons of light twine around the Creator’s talon and elegantly weave themselves together into a corporeal form. A being of grand splendor, bathed in the cradle of warm light, manifests among the backdrop of darkness dotted with stars so much like him. He smiles up at his Creator. He is cloaked in the immaculate white of innocence, and in the warm glow of ethereal divinity.

“My Creator,” he greets with a gentle rhythm in his voice.

“Helel ben Sahar. Look upon the new world I have created.”

Golden locks of radiance flowing in the stillness of space, Helel turns his head to gaze at the bright blue planet newly crafted by the Creator’s will. “It is beautiful,” he breathes in awe. “It mirrors the beauty of the dimension you and I once knew.”

“This new world, imbued with my love, will be perfect.” The Creator spreads his wings and drifts toward the newborn blue. Helel follows at his side, trailed by the light emanating from every inch of his star-kissed skin. “But it will not begin as such. It is merely a seed, yet to bud and blossom to its true, full beauty.”

Creator and Speaker descend to the lush green surface of a virgin meadow. The blades of grass sway in the gentle push and pull of the wind, set into motion by the Creator’s knowledge of its pattern. Loyally flanked by his voice, the Creator trudges through the field until he reaches a small hill tipped with a patch of bare, brown earth. “Life...begins here.” He presses his dark talons to the soft earth and breathes. Flecks of burning ash drop from his maw, fertilizing the soil with creation.

The anointed brown cracks. A thin, tiny stem emerges from the fissure and careens itself toward the blue of the heavens.

“Watch it grow with me, Helel.”

“Of course, my Creator.”

Creator and Speaker stand side-by-side as the stem begins to sprout its fragile leaves, rounded and green and ripe. It reaches higher and higher above the soil, drinking in the light of Helel’s splendor as sustenance, and thickens its own core with the tough hide of bark. The stem becomes a sapling, and the sapling becomes a young tree. Verdant fronds crown its head, reaching upward like reverent hands, and pale pink flowers spiral out from the thin branches here, there, coloring the tree with their gentle purity.

“Beautiful,” Helel breathes. “Such beauty in everything you create…”

“This tree nurtures wisdom and perfection. It is everything I hope this world will someday be,” the Creator speaks as he circles the tree with slow, careful steps. “In the meantime, let it serve as only a symbol—a guide for the rest of life to follow. And you, my radiant Speaker, my Helel, will be the one to safeguard it.”

Helel turns to the Creator, eyes as blue as the sky watching above. “Will I not speak your voice as I did in the dimension before, my Creator?”

“No, not in this world,” the Creator replies. He approaches Helel, head raised and wings folded against his back, and twines a talon around a single strand of his radiant hair. “I will create another in your image. A companion, an equal. Someone to watch over the new birth of this world alongside you, but who is as new as the world itself.”

“I understand,” Helel says with a smile. “A new beginning for everything.”

“Indeed.” The Creator drags his talon along the strand, its sheen illuminated by the light bleeding through the leaves of the perfect tree. The strand falls from Helel’s beautiful hair and dangles from the Creator’s talon, suspended by power, invigorated by the light.

“Let there be endless light.”

The strand comes alive with pure radiance, shifting and weaving in response to the Creator’s call. It expands like the rise of the dawn, and shapes itself into a form nearly identical to Helel’s grace. Sky blue eyes stare into Helel’s own, but instead of locks bathed in gentle gold, immaculate white hair frames the pale face that mirrors Helel’s countenance.

The Creator cloaks the new Speaker in vestments of white and bestows him with a name. “You are Lucilius.”

Lucilius says nothing, not yet accustomed to his newly born existence. He turns his gaze to the Creator and bows his head in acknowledgement and gratitude for his name. Helel, never faltering in his smile, clasps Lucilius’ hand and beams as bright as the light that birthed them both.

“Ah, such lovely white hair,” he coos. As he speaks those words, the gold of his own hair fades into white, and the length recedes to match Lucilius’ instead. “Now you and I are truly born of the same beauty.”

As the twin lights take in the blue of each other’s eyes, the pale pink petals of the perfect tree begin to bear. They curl together, bound tight by life, and their hue deepens to a succulent scarlet shade as their shape hardens into spheres. The branches weigh down, bursting with bountiful pregnancy, bright red fruits gleaming in the presence of omnipotence.

The Creator regards each fruit with a pensive gaze. “Helel, Lucilius,” he speaks, earning the attention of the twin lights. “This fruit...carries the knowledge of everything with which I have created this world. The knowledge of good, the knowledge of evil, the knowledge of everything in between.” He pauses. Helel and Lucilius gaze at the fruit with wonder in their blue eyes. “...You must do well not to eat from it. Such knowledge is not meant for the perfection of light.”

“Of course, my Creator,” Helel speaks, bowing his head. “I will guard this tree as you will it.”

“And you,” the Creator begins, turning to Lucilius, “will guide this new world with your radiance.”

Lucilius says nothing, but bows his head as well.

Satisfied even with his silence, the Creator steps away from the tree and the twin lights and gazes up at the sky. “I must take my leave now to the stars. I know not what will become of me, but I entrust this world, and its evolution, to you. Speak my voice and witness my vision.”

With those final words, the Creator spreads his wings and ascends, flying higher and higher until he leaves the blue world to rejoin the glittering stars. Beside the tree, Helel and Lucilius watch their Creator depart in silence. Then, Lucilius pries his hand from Helel’s and pads down the hill without so much as a whisper. Helel follows in stride, curiosity piqued by the silence of his companion.

“Will you not speak a word or two, Lucilius? Your voice is not forbidden.”

Lucilius says nothing. He wades through the swaying meadow, inspecting his new surroundings with a calculative gaze.

“Ah, could it be that you do not yet know how to speak? Allow it a bit of time and surely your voice will come to you.”

Indifferent to Helel’s chatter, Lucilius plucks a blade of grass and runs his finger over its smooth skin. The dewy texture glides smoothly under the pad of his fingertip. He then sets it down, lowers his body to a kneel, and drags his palm across the soil speckled with tiny stones.

“Aha, you are quite the curious one… You must see that everything is quite lovely. Certainly you agree that our Creator has quite the artistic eye—”

“Silence,” Lucilius speaks.

Helel stops, surprised by the sheer power in his companion’s voice. It is much deeper than his, reaching deep enough into the world to shake the very core itself. It renders him silent, standing there in the meadow with the stillness of the non-living, until at last he blinks out of his shock and musters a laugh to dispel the tension. “My, what a powerful voice. Surely all of creation will follow in your lead with that voice of yours.”

“If that is so, then follow my lead and remain silent, Helel,” Lucilius remarks, causticity dripping from every syllable onto the grass. It burns away at the tender blades that wilt in his suffocating presence, yet the carnage goes unnoticed. He dips his fingers into the fragile soil and marvels at how easily it gives way, crumbling beneath his touch. He pays little mind to the dusk that looms over the dawn of Helel’s face.

Holding his tongue, Helel wades across the meadow and watches, in silence, as Lucilius inspects the earth with curious fingers and eyes. He bites back his words out of respect for his companion, despite the unsettling tension so often accompanied with the spell of silence; it unnerves him. Helel does not abhor silence entirely, but the shadows that drape over Lucilius’ countenance, dark even in the glow of the sun, prickle his skin with a scattering of goosebumps.

Is Lucilius truly of his essence? Helel struggles to fathom how a light so dark could have been conceived from a strand of his own hair. Much more boggling is the suddenness of it all—the sun has not even set since the conception of Lucilius as the Speaker of this world, and yet he has already deviated from his original mold to the point that he is unrecognizable.

Despite their identical appearance, Helel finds himself staring at the image of a stranger he does not recall ever meeting. Yet, his heart aches with love, drawn to this stranger through their immutable light. He cannot sever their unspoken bond.

“...If I may,” Helel begins, slowly, careful not to arouse the frustrations of his companion, “what is it that you are doing?”

“Sating my curiosity,” Lucilius replies matter-of-factly, as though his intent is as clear as the cloudless sky. “If I am to be a part of this world, then I must harness all of the knowledge it has to offer.”

“You seek all of it?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Such a task would be impossible in such a short span of time, never mind the fact that the knowledge of tomorrow will not be the same as the knowledge of today.”

Lucilius halts in his inspection of the soil and lifts his gaze to Helel. He mulls over his words, hand raised to his chin, until a crescent of light emerges in the blue of his eyes. With a smile, he turns his attention to the tree, situated on the hill that marks the beginning. Silence speaks his intent, the smile on his face not the slightest bit hesitant. And Helel knows. He steps in front of Lucilius and stares into his eyes, but his skin runs cold. In the mirror of Lucilius’ eyes, he sees himself, suspended in the lustrous shadow of desire—desire, a consequence, a temptation born from the seduction of free will.

“You cannot,” Helel declares, firm, his ground held and stood. “You cannot eat that fruit.”

“But it holds the knowledge I seek.”

“Our Creator forbade us. What that fruit entails is not meant for our minds to know.”

Lucilius narrows his eyes. “Then why allow it to grow? Why allow it existence in the first place? What purpose is it meant to serve if not to be consumed and understood?” He rises to stand and stares defiantly at Helel. “Why grant us freedom of thought and will if we must still abide by arbitrary rule?”

Helel frowns, his dawn skin fettered by dusk. “Our Creator aims to test our loyalty and resolve. Our freedom does not equate to a reckless pursuit of ambition.”

“How do you propose I guide this world, then, if I do not have the knowledge of it?” Lucilius challenges. “I only seek to fulfill my role.”

“You must grow, as all things. You must learn alongside this world, for only in that way will you be equal to it. If you wrest all power and knowledge now, you will only become a tyrant, and you will stifle the world.”

The sun begins to set. Gold bleeds into the blue of the sky and darkens it with heavy color. Lucilius’ eyes darken, but not with gold. “How do you know that for certain?”

“I have witnessed life before,” Helel explains, lowering his gaze. “I know the patterns. For the sake of our Creator’s vision, I long to avoid the disaster we left behind.” He descends to one knee, then the other, and bows his head as the sunset flares behind the tree. The skin of the red fruit shines as if burning. “Please, I beg of you. You have only just been born, yet I love you, and I do not want to see you fall to the taint of corruption. Please, listen to my words, for they come from my heart. Do not eat that fruit. You and I are of the same light—I refuse to let you darken into darkness.”

Lucilius peers down at Helel’s prostrated form, lips pulled into a tight line. He listens to him, gaze never breaking from his act of submission, and weighs his words with a deep hum. “...You say that you love me.”

“I do,” Helel breathes.

“Then, do as I tell you, and in return I will not eat from the fruit.”

Helel glances up at him, lips parted to speak, but the words do not come. He simply kneels there as Lucilius shifts forward and slides his hand along the side of his cheek, thumb pressing onto the soft, warm skin under Helel’s eye. “Will you do as I tell you?” Smiling, Lucilius descends to his knees and faces him, equal to Helel in body—but not in presence. “Just how deep does your loyalty to our Creator run?”

Helel’s tongue weighs heavy in his mouth. Closing his eyes, he forces his lips to give shape to his words. “Deeper than anything,” he mutters.

“Then will you bow to me out of your proclaimed love?”

“I…”

Lucilius leans close, fingers dragging down Helel’s cheek to rest on his bottom lip. His scent—the earthy aroma of soil—floods Helel with a single inhale.

“I will.”

Chuckling, Lucilius presses his lips to Helel’s, and seals his pledge with the first kiss of their world. He locks him into place, hand tight on his chin, and watches a tear roll down the curve of Helel’s cheek. It amuses him. To think that they are of the same light, yet so opposite, so contradictory.

“Helel,” Lucilius breathes when they part. He speaks his name with false affection; already he knows the flavor of deceit. “From now on, you will sate my curiosity. Anything I desire to know, you will be there to help me uncover its truth.” He coaxes Helel to open his eyes. “Do you understand?”

Helel gazes up at the dark of the night, though he does not know if it is the sky or Lucilius’ eyes gazing back at him. “I do.”

And so he yields himself. He yields himself out of love, out of loyalty, out of innocence. The infertile remnants of the universe before—he does not wish to repeat their folly. For the sake of this new world, and the vision of his Creator, he will be the sacrificial lamb that wanders naively behind the heels of the butcher.

Lucilius kisses him again. Helel closes his eyes and chooses not to think about the taste of blood on his tongue.

 

* * *

 

The days come and go with the rise and fall of the sun. Helel attends to Lucilius’ every beck and call, following his whims for the sake of safeguarding the fruit. Whatever Lucilius desires, Helel provides without hesitation. He cannot falter. He cannot allow Lucilius to fall into the dark. Even if it means expending himself, he rather shed the feathers of his own wings than allow Lucilius to devolve into a fate worse than death.

Dusk looms over the meadow. In a garden born of its own accord from the blessed soil, Lucilius beckons Helel close and coaxes him onto his lap. He presses his face into the curve of Helel’s neck, breathing against his sensitive skin and smirking as he feels Helel tremble in response. “...Helel,” Lucilius mutters as he kisses the skin. “Tomorrow, come with me. There are a myriad of creatures that you and I must give names to.”

“As you will it,” Helel answers, palms resting on Lucilius’ shoulders. “Our Creator would take delight in knowing we have given names to his children.”

Lucilius chuffs. “Must all your thoughts lead back to him?”

“Of course. He created me, just as he created you. He created every plant we have already named, and he created the beasts that we will name come tomorrow. He is everything that—”

Lucilius silences him with a deep, impassioned kiss, pulling Helel flush against his body despite the squeak of protest. He kisses him with the hunger of a beast that has never known the taste of sustenance. He swallows Helel’s voice, burying it deep within himself, and engraves his own taste into Helel’s mouth with the intent to mark him from the inside. Throughout it all, his eyes remain open, gaze never lifting from Helel’s eyelids scrunched closed and tight against his cheeks as he struggles to breathe.

The need for air, at last, forces Lucilius to part from Helel’s soft lips. “Stop speaking of him so brazenly,” Lucilius mutters. “He is not here anymore. Forget him.”

Helel wilts, lips slick and cheeks wet from the suffocating kiss. “I… I cannot.”

“I demand you forget about him.”

“Lucilius…” Helel curls his fingers into fists, rebuilding his resolve to stare deep into Lucilius’ eyes. “Not once have I faltered in satisfying your demands, and I do not intend to start now. But, please, I ask of you this single request: allow me to retain the memory and legacy of our Creator. I will not ask for anything else, ever, I swear to you.”

Lucilius measures his words, one-by-one, his face firm and contemplative. His fingers slide along the curve of Helel’s waist, skimming higher and higher until they dance over his shoulder and glide onto his neck. “...You will not ask for anything else?” His fingers tap the line of Helel’s jaw, waiting.

“I promise.”

“Hm…” Humming, Lucilius traces the outline of Helel’s face, fingertips dragging over his cheeks, lips, and the shell of his ear. “...Very well. I will permit it.”

Helel exhales a deep sigh. “Thank you.”

“But I must ask in return,” Lucilius begins, shattering the relief on Helel’s face, “a question that has intrigued me since the first day.”

“Yes…?” Helel braces himself, body tensing, fingers digging into Lucilius’ shoulders through the fabric of his white robes.

“Why is it that you altered your appearance to mirror mine, when I am the one who was born of your light?”

The tension releases from Helel’s body, the question nothing to fear. It is merely curiosity, one that he cannot blame Lucilius for. “You were born different than me,” he begins, hands relaxed, gaze softening. “I suppose our differing personalities should not come as a surprise to me, but… I wanted to stand as your equal. In body and in mind. I wanted to look upon you and see not a creation born of my light, but a companion, a friend. Someone who could stand by my side through it all.”

Lucilius’ lips curve into a smile. “How sentimental.”

“Is it so bad to have sentiment?” Helel questions rather indignantly.

“No,” Lucilius laughs. “No, not at all. If anything, it’s...charming. So very charming.” He leans in close to Helel’s ear, his voice deepening into a sultry tone. “Such a good thing you have it, and not me. It would not help to have two fools rendered vulnerable by sentiment.”

Helel frowns. “What—”

“Yet by that same vein, it would not help to have two bastards devoid of any and all sentiment.” Lucilius smirks up at him, carding his fingers through Helel’s fluffy hair. “You and I—we are not and never will be equal to one another. But, it is better that way. We are not meant to be the same.”

He tightens his arms around Helel’s waist and basks in the light of his skin, brighter now in the night.

“Two fragments of the same light—we fill in the gaps of our complimentary flaws. Without the other we will never be complete.” He kisses him again, only this time he is gentle and slow. “...Stay with me. No matter what, stay with me. You are the dawn to my dusk and without you time will never flow. All will fall into stagnation.”

Helel, unable to see past the sentiment in those words, loses himself a little more. “I never planned to leave. My place is with you.”

Lucilius laughs, but there is no warmth in the sound. “I will hold you to that.”

 

* * *

 

Helel lies in the meadow, eyes cast to the blue sky, his arms slack and still on either side of him. He watches flocks of birds fly overhead, their cries distant and faint among the blowing wind. Closing his eyes, he breathes in the scent of the soil—so much like Lucilius’ strong, earthy aroma—and breathes out a sigh that carries with it the weariness of his body. Fatigue, he knows, is a normal part of a living being’s life. Still, knowing that does not make him dislike it any less.

Slowly, he drags his body to sit up and peer at the tree standing behind him. Its vibrant red fruit still hangs, nestled among the verdant leaves, and the passing wind takes care in ensuring it does not blow too hard, lest it knocks the fruits from their perch. He smiles, thankful and relieved to see all the fruits accounted for, and shifts his body into a kneel to venerate the tree itself.

“Master…,” he breathes. “I know not where you are, nor what else you expect of me, but… I have done all in my power to carry out your vision. Life flourishes as we speak, and the beasts of your design thrive. Lucilius—he is impeccable in his study and observation of your creations. I have the highest of hopes for him in moving forward with his task. I only pray that you do as well, for he deserves nothing less.”

He does not speak of temptation. He does not speak of how Lucilius entertains its vice every time he looks at the tree and stares at its crimson bounty.

“...Master, where have you gone?” he asks. And then, in a small, faint voice, “Why have you not spoken to me? It has been several months now since I last heard your voice... Have I… Have I done something wrong?” He draws his knees up to his chest and hugs them tightly, chin nestled between his knees. “Please… Master, I… I am beginning to lose sense of myself. My head bursts with questions that only you can answer.”

He fails to notice the rustling of grass, and the faint hiss of a creature slithering through the meadow, its white scales gleaming in the morning light.

“I beg of you, Master. Lend your voice to your humble Speaker. I miss you, every day and night. I long for your grand presence to envelop me, I long to feel you all around me as I once did before you birthed this world.”

He weeps, quietly, tears dripping onto the soil. Muffling his voice between his knees, he holds himself tighter, fingers digging through the fabric of his clothes and into his sides. He cannot stop the wave of deep, painful loneliness that rolls through him, leaving him numb, helpless, despite knowing that Lucilius will return any moment now. Lucilius is not his Creator. Lucilius cannot provide the same comfort as him.

Lucilius’ affections run carnal and raw. His love is not so much love as it is passion ruled by impulse.

Suddenly, Helel senses something nearby and lifts his head to find a long, slender beast without limbs slithering past his legs. He recalls the name of this creature from one of his expeditions with Lucilius—it is a snake. Yet, he does not recall ever seeing a snake with such pure white scales.

“Are you lost, little one?” Helel calls out in a strained voice. He reaches out to touch it, but the moment his fingertips graze the top of the snake’s head, it hisses and sinks its fangs deep into his hand. He cries out, liquid heat burning through his veins as the venom runs its course. The stinging pain of the bite quickly dissipates into a numbness that settles into every part of his body.

He sits there, staring wide-eyed at the snake whose maw drips red with his blood. He wants to run, but the sensation of his own body is gone. He feels nothing. Nothing at all but a deep terror stabbing into the pit of his stomach.

“Oh, Helel,” a familiar voice tuts from behind him. “I had hoped, by now, that you would have lost your love for an indifferent god, but your loyalty runs deeper than I expected. My patience was wearing thin… I had to take matters into my own hands.”

Lucilius steps into view, his white robes trailing behind him. His gaze cold and without love, he reaches down to pick up the snake and allows it to coil around his neck. “I see you met my friend. She has a powerful kiss, doesn’t she? Truly venomous.” He chuckles. “I assure you, you will live. I could never bring myself to kill you, Helel. What I said before is true—you and I cannot be without each other. We are all we have now that our Creator has chosen to abandon us.”

Helel protests in his mind, but his body remains helpless.

“This world cannot thrive without the power and knowledge of a god,” Lucilius states, clear and pronounced. “With this world abandoned by is parent, I must become that god.” He releases the snake into the meadow and turns to face the tree. “Witness my rebirth, Helel.”

Lucilius plucks the first fruit without hesitance. He bites into it, teeth tearing through red skin, and gouges into its soft pale flesh with an unknown hunger. Its sweet fluid drips down his lips, trickling down his chin and onto his robe. The blood of the innocent fruit darkens into a deep scarlet the moment it touches the white of his robe. It stains its purity with the taint of his sin.

He devours the fruit until nothing is left but its core. Unsatisfied, he tosses the core aside and plucks another fruit, tearing into this one with an even greater frenzy. Like the first, its blood stains his vestments with scarlet, and its skin leaves his lips red and slick. Fruit after fruit he devours in this gruesome way, the sound of gouging flesh tickling Helel’s ears as he bears witness to the slaughter.

 _No,_ Helel pleads in the echoing chamber of his mind. _No! Stop! Please! I beg of you, please stop!_

But Lucilius will not stop. The knowledge of everything—of good, evil, innocence, guilt, creation, destruction—it all floods into him at once. His ravenous hunger demands for more, _more_ , never satisfied with simply one more bite. It demands it all, so that he, too, can be perfect. He, too, can be omnipotent, and worthy of Helel’s undying love.

The slaughter ends. Lucilius stands in front of Helel, robes blotched here and there with sticky patches of red, and pays no mind to the dozens of devoured cores scattered around him. He cradles the last fruit in his hand and holds it out.

“Helel.” His lips split into a cruel smile. “You can have the last one.”

Lucilius wipes the sweetness of his sin from his lips and drops the fruit. It rolls toward Helel and stops, its red skin marred with specks of dirt, and then, just like that, Lucilius falls.

Helel watches the body of his companion drop into the soft earth. He tries to open his mouth to scream, but the venom sews his lips shut, and chains his body from reaching out to him.

And then there is silence.

 

* * *

 

Lucilius opens his eyes to the sight of the setting sun. A river flows around him, cleansing the last traces of scarlet sin from the white of his robes. He blinks once, twice, his mind ripe with questions as he lifts himself and stares at the palms of his hands. Fragments of his dream float around in his mind, their images of bright light and splendor conceiving questions he does not have the answers to.

Where is he? Who is he? What is he meant to do?

He glances at the river and finds himself face-to-face with his reflection. He remembers his name, but nothing more. “...Lucilius. I am Lucilius.”

He knows his name, yet he feels hollow, as though a gaping hole has been carved into his chest. Frowning, he claws at his skin, searching for the gap but finding nothing. Still, he knows there is something missing. Something precious, something gentle. Something that he can never hope to be.

Biting back the inexplicable pain of emptiness, he drags himself out of the river and scans his surroundings. Everything is strangely familiar, yet foreign all the same. He cannot make sense of it.

Kneeling beside the river, he stares at his reflection again. Sky blue eyes, pure white hair, and pale skin kissed by dusk. Driven by a strange sense of longing, he reaches out to caress its cheek, but his fingers shatter the image. His hands cannot grasp what he so desperately wants, yet he does not even know what it is that he so fervently desires.

His hands tremble. Forcing himself to stand, he treads through the surrounding meadow, no destination in sight. He simply chooses to follow his impulses, which lead him to a hill upon which a lonely tree stands. Its leaves remain still, even in the blowing breeze, and its branches are bare and dull.

A single bright red fruit sits at the base.

Dropping to his knees, he picks up the fruit and caresses the smooth red skin, curious as to its nature. There is something rather innocent about it, but powerful all the same. It resonates with the unknown power in his veins, causing his skin to tingle, and his heart to pound in his chest. The urge to devour it dies when he realizes this fruit could bear the desire he seeks.

He buries the fruit in the tender soil and imbues his power into it with a single touch. Although he does not understand his own power, much less where it hails from, he chooses to follow the instincts of his body.

From the fruit, a white sapling blooms. This sapling, however, bears feathers instead of leaves, and as it grows, it takes not the form of a tree, but the form of Lucilius’ own body. Little by little it takes shape, invigorated with power from Lucilius, imbued with evolution from the final fruit of knowledge.

Six white wings spread out from this immaculate genesis.

Lucilius gives him a name.

“Lucifer.”

**Author's Note:**

> as always, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated <3 I love hearing about what readers think about the fic!


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